Brasserie Blanc

It meant that instead of arriving for my Valentine’s dinner dressed up to the eyeballs and sweeping into Brasserie Blanc in high heels, I staggered in clutching at Mr Greedy in a manner that evoked room-wide sympathy, as if I was a problematic alcoholic.

Grabbing at the nearest chair, Mr Greedy then sat down next to me rather than opposite, which I thought was terribly romantic until he informed me it was just easier to hear, “although if I didn’t love you I wouldn’t care what you had to say and would be happy to sit opposite,” he added, entirely nonplussed.

Either way, he was excited, regardless of his impediment of a wife, because it was his first time at Brasserie Blanc in any of its reincarnations. How he had slid through the net who knows, because Brasserie Blanc is one of the stalwart Oxford restaurants, and where the Petit Blanc/ Brasserie Blanc dynasty all started. So, seizing the opportunity as it presented itself to me, I had booked us in at the next auspicious date — February 14.

Of course, this meant we had to share the restaurant with endless other couples crammed in next to each other, all coerced into having a memorable, meaningful meal — the pressure!

It did, however, also mean that we got to play our favourite game, dividing the room into two sections, those who couldn’t wait to get home and repair to their twin beds, whose yawning silences were painful to watch, and the rest who couldn’t wait to run home and rip each other’s clothes off.

Several couples had brought their babies in as well, booking late, and you wanted to pat them on the back and say it does get better, but by then you don’t care quite as much.

The Valentine’s and specials menus were identical as far as we could see, except for the ‘love cocktails’ thrown in for good measure, so I tried the passionfruit bellini which was a bit saccharine for me. Mr Greedy loved the menu though and opted for the moules to start, while I had the white onion soup. The moules weren’t garlicky, which disappointed him, and the soup was really sweet, so we left most of it and waited for mains.

My favourite Brasserie Blanc dish is the savoury pancakes, but they weren’t on the menu, so I opted for the gratin. Now a gratin to me is something with grilled cheese on top, but mine came in a creamy Gruyère sauce. I had omitted the poached egg and maybe by playing with the dish, had deconstructed it and ruined it in the process. I also ordered the maman blanc salads, a great tiffin-style selection, from beetroot to celeriac remoulade, but some of it was a bit dry and undressed for me, and the accompanying chips were a bit old. However, as the chefs were catering for hundreds of people on the night in question, I didn’t mind too much. And what’s a limp frite between lovers?

The cassoulet on the other hand went down a treat, a wide bowl of sausage and beans covered in crispy breadcrumbs, which meant Mr Greedy was as happy as Boris Johnson in a harness. He didn’t need the mashed potato suggested as an accompaniment, however, being too full to even manage dessert.

This was his loss, because at this point I was finally presented with something that blew me away — the pistachio soufflé. It was A_M_A_Z_I_N_G. Delicate, fragrant, rich and colourful, with an icing sugary hit and perfect airy texture. Heaven. “Don’t you want the ice cream?” Mr Greedy asked? “No, just this for ever.” In fact, I could have spared myself the previous two courses, and been happy as Larry, whoever he was.

And as we limped home, past a couple arguing bitterly, I realised we weren’t doing so badly after all, even if I did look like Betty Ford on a good night out. As for Brasserie Blanc, Mr Greedy wants to go back and try out the rest of the menu, perhaps not on Valentine’s Day, though. There’s only so much romance one woman can take!